


And You’re A Dirty Goddamn !#?*@(%

by shibboleth



Category: South Park
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shibboleth/pseuds/shibboleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan disappears; Kyle worries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And You’re A Dirty Goddamn !#?*@(%

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself. No slash here, they are nine. Also? Cartman is a "racist, self-centered, intolerant, manipulating sociopath," and that's in the words of one of his friends. He says terrible things that I do not endorse at all. This is self-evident if you've watched the show, but, DISCLAIMER. Just in case.

Kyle  _notices_  that Stan doesn't show up for school on Monday, of course, because school is three times more unbearable without someone else rolling their eyes when Timmy's wheelchair catches on fire or Cartman starts—okay, no, Kyle absolutely refuses to rise to the bait or even acknowledge Cartman, today, even if this is the third time just this morning—and now it's the fourth time—whatever, this would be a lot less annoying if the next seat over wasn't so infuriatingly empty. Kyle doesn't really care, except for when he's imagining that Stan's probably home sick and it's probably not a big deal but he's probably being a pussy bitch about it otherwise he'd just suck it up and—

…  _Five_  times, and that's enough. "Damnit, Cartman!" Kyle yells. "If you say one more thing about the Jews I swear to  _God_  I'm going to—"

"Quiet down, kids."

Kyle crosses his arms and slouches down in his seat, scowling bitterly. Sure, of course,  _he's_  the one that gets told to be quiet while everyone just ignores the fatass. The count goes up to six, seven, nine, fourteen, twenty-one— _not that Kyle's keeping track_ —but he manages to keep his mouth shut until Cartman reaches the magic number forty-two anti-Semitic comments in the short span of half an hour, and the sheer monotony of it all—

"Damnit, Cartman, I  _told_  you to shut up about the—"

"Now, Kyle, if you can't restrain yourself from standing up and shouting in the middle of class, I'm afraid you're going to have to spend the afternoon in detention."

"But…"

—is about enough to drive him completely insane. So maybe that's why, when he gets home from school, he's still wearing that scowl.

He storms into the kitchen and over to the phone and he dials, lets it ring about five times, and then he slams the receiver down. It's a complete overreaction, he knows it is, but eight hours of the fourth grade combined with nonstop verbal harassment at the hands of Eric Cartman would put anyone in a crappy mood. "Screw you, Stan," he mutters, and he walks off to go play football with Kenny or something.

*

It only takes two days after that for Kyle to start caring for real, and he's not embarrassed to admit it, because three days is a long time to miss school. … Okay, maybe he is kind of embarrassed, because it's really not that long, but usually by now even if Stan was really sick he'd be bored of playing video games and sleeping by now and he would've called. So either he was  _really_  sick, or…

"Hey, guys?" Kyle starts conversationally, at afternoon recess, turning a basketball over in his hands as Cartman and Kenny look at him expectantly. "Have you two heard anything from Stan? I called his house twice last night and no one picked up."

Cartman shrugs. "Who the fuck cares? Thrown the ball, you stupid Jew."

Kyle grinds his teeth, and after school he goes over to the Marsh residence alone.

He rings the doorbell and waits, patiently at first. Then he knits his eyebrows together and rings it again, and when that doesn't work he rings it  _again_ , and then he starts pounding on the door with his fist. "Stan!" he shouts. "Stan! Come on, dude! Open up!"

He's scowling, again, but he knows he's not annoyed, even if it feels about the same.

"Stan?" he tries, again. Then, "Mr. Marsh? Mrs. Marsh?" He hesitates. "… Shelly?" He glances over at the driveway, making sure they aren't all just out somewhere, but no, Stan's dad's car is out front.

Kyle sighs and sits down on the front step, and after about forty minutes of waiting he shrugs and starts walking home.

*

Once he gets there, he's grounded for coming home late without calling.

"Damnit!"

And then he's grounded for another day.

*

"No, I'm serious, I think something's going on." Kyle takes a bite out of his sandwich, and chews it thoughtfully, washing it down with milk. The third graders have been raving about lunch being radioactive today, and Kyle thinks that's stupid, but he's making sure to avoid everything Chef handed out. "I mean it, I think if Stan doesn't show up soon we should call the police."

Kenny sticks a bread crust into his parka hood and says something.

"Of course I looked for him! And today after school, you're going to help me look, too."

Kenny nods and shrugs, and talks some more.

"I don't know, I didn't think that far, yet. You want this?" Kyle doesn't wait for an answer, and slides the bowl of … possibly radioactive chili across the table. Yeah, it's a dumb rumor, but the food is  _green_. "I figured we could break into his house or something like that, maybe we'll find a clue."

Kenny looks down at the chili doubtfully. He says something else.

"Well,  _I_  don't want to eat it, either."

Kenny talks.

"Where else are we supposed to look for him?" Kyle snaps. "Do you have a better idea? I didn't think so!"

"What are you two fags arguing about?" Cartman asks, sounding far too bored to put any effort into the question. He's been sitting right here the whole time, so it's his own stupid fault if he hasn't been paying attention. "Could you keep it down? Bitchy little girl whining kinda ruins my appetite."

Kyle really, really doesn't want to get into it with Cartman right now, but the habit's so ingrained it happens anyway: "None of your goddamn business, fatso."

Cartman narrows his eyes, but before he can think of enough insult to make a complete sentence, Kenny cuts in with a quickly mumbled answer to his original question.

"What?" Cartman asks. "What the hell would you… is anyone going to eat that?" When neither of them claim the chili—he gives them almost an entire second to do that—he starts shoveling it into his mouth. "What do you want to break into Stan's house for? I know you're poor, Kenny, but Stan's family doesn't have anything worse stealing."

Kenny rolls his eyes.

The chili's gone, now, and maybe Kyle's going crazy—it feels like that most of the time anyway—but Cartman's face is starting to look just a little, very faintly green around the edges. "Or are you going to set fire to it or what? I'll totally help you guys do that."

"Cartman, why the hell would I set Stan's house on fire?"

"Kyle," Cartman says, patiently. "Maybe you want to smoke him out. Maybe you hate his house and you've been waiting for years for just this sort of perfect opportunity to wipe off the face of the Earth. Maybe you think his parents hid ten million dollars under the floorboards. Honestly, Kyle, I don't know how your Jew brain works."

"That's  _it!_ " Kyle jumps to his feet, his eyes blazing, and then he looks into Cartman's entirely unsurprised face. He sits back down, grumbling. "Me and Kenny are going to look for Stan after school, and  _you_  aren't coming." He knows this falls flat, but what else is he supposed to do? He has better things to do than play along with the stupid asshole.

Cartman snorts. "Whatever," he says. "Like I want to spend my time looking for that loser anyway."

Kyle picks up his sandwich again, taking an angry bite, and he half-seriously hopes Cartman dies of radiation poisoning.

*

Cartman disappears Friday morning because some scientists from NASA want to look at his brain—right before they took him he started raving about green eggs and chili to anyone and everyone who looked at him, so Kyle really isn't sad to see him go.

*

But that leaves no one to hang out with over the weekend except Kenny, who's bored of looking for Stan by halfway through Saturday. He suggests they do something a bit more interesting, and Kyle tells him to go screw himself.

Kenny says that that'd be more fun than this, and leaves.

*

Figuring even  _some_  company is better than no company, Kyle heads over to the Scotch residence. But Butters is grounded.

*

Token has something better to do.

* 

Craig still hates him, and Tweek and Clyde are missing. Their parents say it had to do with the government or food poisoning but Kyle isn't really paying attention.

*

Kyle decides that, screw this, he's not going to wander South Park begging people to keep him company, because that's just pathetic.

Instead, he's going to stay at home, because that's so much better. He sits down at the kitchen table, across from his mother, and he puts his elbows on the tabletop and his head on his hands. He sighs loudly. "Mom," he says. "Do you know what happened to the Marshes?"

His mom glances up from whatever list she's writing. "I'm sorry, honey, what?"

"The Marshes."

"The who?"

He stares at her in horror, at first, and then his eyes drift downward, and he looks at what his mom is working on. She's writing down phone numbers, he reads words like  _FDA_  and  _child services_  and  _biohazard_  and  _President of the United States_ , and he realizes that even if she's looking at him her pen is still moving. She's not listening. "You know what?" he says. "Just—never mind."

He slides out of the chair and heads for the door.

"Kyle, honey, do you want to know what Mommy's working on?"

"Nope, not really."

He turns on the television and prepares to rot his brain for the next few hours, because there's a Terrence and Phillip marathon on.

*

On Sunday Cartman's back. He's in bed when Kyle goes over to his house, and he's so pale and sickly that it looks like he spent the whole last two days puking. Kyle hopes that's the case. "You look like crap," he says.

Cartman cracks one eye open. "Why are  _you_  here?"

Kyle crosses his arms and gives the carpet a death glare. "I just came to see if you were still alive. I'm leaving now."

"W-wait, Kyle! Wait!"

"No, seriously, dude, I'm going."

"Kyle, wait, Kyle. Wait," Cartman rasps. He reaches out with one hand, imploringly. "I … so sick—need—just bring me—five sandwiches, with mayo, and some soda … so much pain … maybe some French fries and a shake from—"

"Oh, shut up, you're fine. I just talked to your mom and she said you're going back to school tomorrow. I'm really going, now." He ignores the sputtering behind him as he walks out, walks home, walks through his front door, walks upstairs, walks into his— "Retard, are you  _still_  following me?!"

Cartman is stretched out on his stomach on the ground, one hand still raised imploringly. "… Please, Kyle … must have … French fries."

"Kyle!" he hears his mother shout. "Did I say you could have friends over without permission? It's after dark!"

Kyle slams his bedroom door in Cartman's face.

*

Officer Barbady isn't listening to him, Kyle knows he's not, and he finishes his story with his hand over his forehead and his eyes pinched shut. It takes that much out of him. "And anyway," he says. "I think they might be in some sort of trouble and I think you guys should do some police stuff and—"

"Yes, yes, well." The officer holds his notes up to his face, which is a joke, because Kyle knows he wasn't writing anything down the entire time. "Um, are you sure they aren't on vacation?"

" _YesI'msuretheyaren'tonvacation_." Kyle takes a deep breath. "You really think the whole family would go on vacation for a week in the middle of the school year and not take their car and leave all their things at home?"

"… Little boy, I think if you just be patient, now, your little friend is sure to turn up again—"

"Jesus Christ, whatever!" Kyle jumps down to the floor and storms out of the police station. "Everyone in this town is completely useless, I swear to God."

*

 _Dear Stan,_

Dude, this is getting ridiculous, I've looked all over town for like a week and a half and no one's seen you or your family or any sign of you guys. You better unvanish soon, because school is really boring, after school is even worse, and I think I'm about to kill Cartman. With you gone he does literally nothing but bother me all the time, day and night, and it's driving me crazy. I mean it, Stan. You have no idea.

Oh, and a bunch of kids in town are getting radiation poisoning. They think it might be aliens. 

Mr. Garrison keeps talking about the mafia, too. I don't even know.

I hope this gets forwarded to you, wherever you are. Next time you decide to just disappear you should probably call me so I don't wonder if you're dead or abducted or something.

Your super best friend,

Kyle

*

"Are you  _still_  moping?"

Kyle looks up from the spot in the grass, which he's been glaring at for about five minutes, by now. He's pissed off, and Cartman and Kenny staring at him like he's some kind of circus freak isn't helping. "I'm not moping, I'm—" Kyle's gaze darkens further. "—I'm thinking. I'm trying to, anyway."

"Can you stop that?" Cartman says. "Because I'm bored and Kenny's bored and just looking at you is making us  _more_  bored."

"Sucks to be you."

"Come ooooooon,  _Kyyyyle_ ," Cartman whines. 

Behind him Kenny says something in agreement. It's a very weak agreement, but Kyle's pretty much sick of feeling like every single person in the entire town is on the side across from him, and he stands up. "I don't care if it'll shut him up, Kenny! Don't you get it? Nothing's going to shut him up!"

Cartman sighed. "Kyle, I know that life seems pretty meaningless without your girlfriend around, but the guys over there want to play kickball and we need another person—"

"Do you hear yourself?  _Ever?_  Stan's family has completely disappeared! You're his friend, too, don't you even care?"

Cartman looks at him blankly, and sometimes—no, all the time—Kyle wonders why he even bothers. Then Cartman raises his eyebrows, and chuckles. "Dude," he says. "Dude, you sounded so freaking gay just now."

"Shut up, Cartman."

He just snickers. " _So_  gay."

"Shut up, Cartman! I just want my best friend back, and—and this stupid town probably ate him or something, for all we know!"

Cartman laughs right out loud. "Oh, right, Jewboy, 'cause that sounds way less gay."

Kyle bristles. "Fuck you, fatass!"

"Hey, maybe  _you're_  some kinda faggot, but I—"

Kyle makes a strangled sound—he meant to say something nasty and scathing and obscene, but all that comes out is unintelligible noise. He dives at Cartman, sending them both sprawling into the snow and the mud, and he yells again as he slams his fist into Cartman's fat face.

He does it twice more while Cartman is still wide-eyed and dumbstruck, then the asshole's face screws up and the tears start flowing. " _Kyle!_ " he shrieks, as he starts flailing his arms wildly. " _You son of a bitch!_ "

Kyle hits him again. Cartman bitch slaps him back, or he tries to, since the chubby fingers barely brush his face. It occurs to Kyle that this just isn't very satisfying. 

And that's when the fat bastard actually lands a good one the nose.

"You fucking—!" Kyle hears muffled protesting in the background, but Kenny's not doing anything to stop them and good thing, because Kyle's pissed off all over again, and maybe he's missing with almost every punch and neither of them are doing much more than getting completely coated in mud, but he doesn't even care. "You stupid fat obnoxious bigoted  _asshole_ , you haven't let up on me in nine days except for when the government kidnapped you and I've had just about _enough_ —"

"Kyle? Cartman? What the hell are you two doing?"

Kyle stops fighting as suddenly as he started. "Stan?"

Stan is upside-down from Kyle's spot on the ground, peering down at them with an expression that almost—but not quite—approaches curiosity. He steps so that he's hovering over Kyle and said, "Dude, are you  _bleeding?_ "

"What?" Kyle pushes himself to his knees, and tries to brush some of the mud off the front of his jacket, and success in smearing it all over. He reaches up and touches his face, and sees that Stan's right. "Oh, Goddamnit. Cartman, you asshole!"

"You started it, you stinking J—"

"Don't even  _start_  that again!" He lunges towards the asshole before he can open his gaping maw again—and he's about to, too, you can tell by the look on his face—but Stan grabs Kyle by the shoulder and pulls him to his feet. Kenny follows his lead, hauling Cartman away, and all of a sudden there's five feet between the two of them.

"You weren't in a hurry to break them up  _before_ ," Stan notes.

Kenny points out that Kyle was winning before.

"Okay, that's a good point."

Kyle shrugs Stan's hand off, scowling harder than he's scowled in days. Maybe. It's close, but he's pretty sure he's madder than he's been in at least seventy-two hours. He turns so no one could possibly misunderstand just who's pissing him off. 

Stan meets his glare with a funny look. "Kyle, dude, are you alright? If your nose hurts that bad maybe you should see the nurse."

Kyle ignores him. "So, what," he says. "You're alive, now?"

Stan blinks. "Yeah, looks like."

"Awesome. That's great. Thanks a lot, asshole."

"Hey, no probl—wait, what?" 

Kyle storms off, swearing under his breath, and behind him he hears Cartman saying, "I don't fucking know, man, haven't you noticed? He's always been like that."

*

The next, before school, Kyle and Stan arrive at the bus stop at the same time and give each other an awkward look, then they both step into their usual spots. Stan's still looking at him, Kyle can tell, and finally he breaks the silence with, "Did Cartman really get kidnapped by NASA so that they could pump his stomach for some radioactive chili?"

Kyle shrugs. "That's what he says."

"You weren't there?"

"I didn't care."

Stan sighs. "Look, are you still mad at me, even though I didn't do anything and you're being completely retarded about it and stuff?"

"Pretty much."

"Okay, cool."

Kyle looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "What, that's it? You don't care?"

"Hell, no. I read your letter. I would've called you if I could've, you know that, so you didn't think I was dead or abducted or something, but you don't even care about what happened so whatever. Fuck you, Kyle," he says, then he turns and walks away. Not  _far_ , only about ten feet to the left, but the message is pretty clear. "And Kyle," he calls, cupping his hands around his mouth—even though, yeah, he's only about ten feet away. "Let me know when you want to hear about the F.B.I. and the Witness Protection Program. And the mafia, too."

Kyle ignores him. 

For a while.

Then, "Wait, dude. Really?"

"Really." Stan walks back. "It was crazy, we both know my parents are really, really stupid but seriously, I had no idea…"

*


End file.
